Vainglorious
by Not your average
Summary: VIMES MUST CHOOSE- Vimes, Vetinari and Ahmed mild slash. this week,vimes gets the answers he so desperately wants...CHAPTER 6 NOW UP! COMPLETE! but pls pls pls pls pls pls RR!im begging... thanku so much.rated pg13 for one occurence of bad language.
1. Lord and Duke

Vainglorious.

Chapter One- Lord and Duke.

    Lord Vetinari, Patrician of Ankh-Morpork, was the most feared man in the city. He was as sharp as the daggers he trained with in the Assassin's Guild, his cold blue stare could turn the minds of even the most well equipped to pulp, and he always, always knew what you were going to say before you said it. Even, sometimes, before you thought it at all. He was also extremely exasperated.

    The Patrician was an expert at reading people. He stood at his high windows in the Palace of Ankh-Morpork and stared down at the city he ran, humming like an ant-hive below, and he studied every human nature and the politics of the city until, everyone agreed, there was nothing you could tell the man that he didn't know already. And while this was useful for him, there were those among the guilds who found that they didn't like their little plots and intrigues coming under the icy blue gaze, didn't like knowing, when they looked up at the blank eyes of the palace, that behind them stood a man who knew their wives and husbands and children's names and habits and shoe size and most importantly, _where they were_, every minute of every day.

    When powerful people, the guild leaders and Ankh-Morpork's rusty aristocracy (who had too much time on their hands anyway) sat around and thought how the man at the top knew too much, assassination was never far from the surface of the seething political cauldron that was Ankh-Morpork. Of course, the very fact that the Patrician would probably know exactly how, who and when the attempt on his life would be made usually kept the wiser plotters at bay, Lord Vetinari had thought it would be amusing to appoint someone to run around shouting, waving a sword and ostensibly protecting the Patrician and his City. This man was Sir Samuel Vimes, Lord, Duke, Commander of The Ankh-Morpork City Watch, and also the very reason Lord Vetinari was so exasperated.

    He steepled his fingers and looked at Vimes over the top of them. Sir Samuel was standing to attention, his eyes fixed at a point some inches above Lord Vetinari's head, and radiating an air of bloody-minded stupidity. This was not unusual in policemen. What made Lord Vetinari's blood boil was that he knew it was an act. Every bit of it. Occasionally flashes of personality as sharp as glass and a sense of humour drenched in cynicism would surface when he talked to Vimes. Behind that stupid expression Vetinari suspected a mind ticking away almost as fast as his own.

    'Let me get this straight' he said wearily. 'Four promising junior members of the Assassin's guild, including Lady Selachii's son, disappeared three months ago and have turned up on the Counterweight Continent, where reports indicate they ran into the nearest temple, swore never to kill again and are now practising as Monks and cannot be entreated to come home.'

    'Yessir.'

    'And' Lord Vetinari pressed on, attempting to make Vimes look into his icy gaze, 'the last contract the four men were assigned to was to kill you, or so Dr. Downey tells me.'

    Vimes' brow wrinkled in perplexity.

    'Four men, just to kill me, sir? Seems a bit extreme. I wonder what happened to them, because I'm sure if they had made it to me I'd have been dead by now. I'm no match for four of the Guild's finest, eh?'

    Vetinari fought a powerful instinct to laugh. Damn Vimes! He was so likeable, in spite of his rudeness and ability to upset everyone in the city given the least opportunity. And under him, the Watch was swelling at an alarming rate, and turning out some very fine police officers that were actually doing what they were supposed to, and solving crimes. What Vetinari had thought of as a little joke to amuse himself, watching a bundle of incompetents led by a drunken Vimes attempt to keep peace in a city that was by nature as peaceful as a chainsaw and just as dangerous, had actually become a force to be reckoned with. And the most remarkable change was in Commander Vimes, who was sober, efficient, well respected, and (the Patrician felt unaccustomed warmth in his cheeks) a fine, handsome man.

    Vetinari, furious with himself for lapsing, jumped up abruptly and moved to the window. He looked out, his back to Vimes, waiting for his cheeks to cool. Unbidden, his mind slipped back to contemplation of the man who stood behind him. Vetinari was experiencing a multitude of feelings that he had never felt before. He knew he was a cold, hard man. He supposed he was feared, maybe respected, admired for his genius. People could be in awe of him, there were even those who wanted to be like him (although those were the kind of people Vetinari quickly disposed of. It didn't do to have more than one of yourself- and Vetinari knew he wasn't trustworthy in the least). And for all the years of his life, having respect and power and great quantities of other people's fear to play with had been enough. And now, suddenly, it wasn't. Suddenly, he wanted more. And there was only one person in the world that he wanted it from.

    He turned quickly, determined that Vimes should never know anything was wrong, and caught the man looking at him with eyes that were a good deal more shrewd and intelligent than he usually allowed them to be in the Patrician's company. Like snuffing a candle, the look disappeared from Vimes' face, replaced by his usual blankness. Vetinari felt a pang in his chest. He wanted so much to see the Vimes that lay behind the mask that he felt it must be written across his forehead. He hardened his gaze.

    'Vimes, I've got proof from witnesses that those Assassins encountered no less than six bear traps, twelve pits and fifty swamp dragons when they reached your house. When all were maimed or otherwise injured, I have people who say they heard you give them the choice of staying in Ankh Morpork or going to pursue a life as a monk in the counterweight continent. Can I assume you were joking when you said that?'

    Vimes grinned.

    'Apparently not, sir.'

Vetinari laid a hand across his eyes.

    'I also have the testimony of the four men, who seemed highly aerated at the mention of your name and were gabbling things like 'Mr. Vimes' dragons'. You are facing a lawsuit from the Guild for loss of earnings. Have you anything to say for yourself, Commander?' Vimes looked thoughtful.

    'Well,' he said pleasantly, 'I may be just a humble policeman, but surely a man protecting his only life is in concurrence with the self-defence laws of this city, laws which are older than the guilds and therefore which the guild of Assassin's are subject to by a declaration in their own rules. So surely, attempting to prosecute a man for actually enforcing city laws is not only against said city laws but also against the laws of the Guild themselves, and by definition they should then put themselves on trial for the aforementioned law-breaking?'

    Vetinari could barely conceal his smile. There it was! That flash of intelligence and humour and wit that Vimes only let out when he was enjoying himself. Vetinari knew Vimes was right, of course. He had only hauled him in out of a desire to see the man- he stopped that thought abruptly.

    'Get out, Vimes' he said wearily, and the Commander ripped off a salute and marched out the door.

Outside the Palace in the sunshine, Vimes leaned against the wall, grinning to himself. He lit a cigar, took a deep drag and blew a smoke ring, perfectly formed from years of practice, into the air. It looked like being a good day.

    Vimes began to saunter across the palace courtyard. He always loved irritating Vetinari- you could practically see the sparks fizzing in his head, as if he longed to grab Vimes around the neck but couldn't, because of etiquette. Vimes would love him to take a swing. _Go on; just go on, _he thought within the confines of his mind, watching Vetinari get more and more agitated. _Go on, you know you want to. _

    But there had been something strange about The Patrician recently. The looks he had been shooting Vimes had been less angry. There was another emotion there, but Vimes couldn't quite put his finger on it. It was almost as if…but Vimes' mind shied away from that thought. He gave himself a mental shrug. _There's a fine line between love and hate,_ he mused to himself, and then realised what had been subtly wrong since he left Vetinari's office. His helmet. He'd left it on Vetinari's desk.

    Suddenly Vimes was really angry. It was just typical of the man. The Patrician never missed a trick- he would have noticed Vimes leaving it there, sure enough, but he wouldn't say anything, oh no. He would wait until Vimes had to come back to get it, then make some snide, irritating comment about the importance of good organisation in a position of command. That was his style. _'How can you hope to command the watch when you haven't even mastered command of your own armour?'_ sneered the Vetinari in Vimes' mind, as Vimes legs began to pound the stairs leading to the Patrician's office. He burst through the door, expecting reprimands, expecting irate secretaries and Vetinari's icy gaze attempting to bore through his skull. He was expecting everything except the Patrician to be standing right in front of him with an odd look on his face and Vimes helmet in his hands. Vimes wasn't expecting Vetinari to kiss him, and it could be that, or other reasons, that led him to kiss back.

__


	2. Policemen

Ok, seeing as i'v got some reviews (yay! thank you all so much! Not you, luska. you know why.) i thought i'd put chapter two up. Pls pls pls let me know what you think...fanfic is all still new to me and i want to know how to improve. Sorry about chapter 2's title- bit rubbish i know!

Anyway....To Luska, no harsh breathing pls! Glad u like (even if i did rip off ur idea, soz bout that) but come on! Sum more specific feedback pls. Dont make me come down there!

To teakettle and scone ; Enelya's right- you do write the sweetest reviews! thanx so much im glad u liked my Vimes- and ur so nice to say its well-written. I do try my hardest. Heres sum more- pls review again.

To waves-Sama , thanx for reviewing. If you think Vimes and Vetinari are sweet, wait till you see whats coming up next...........

Chapter 2 – Policemen

The door of the watch house slammed so hard that little flakes of plaster drifted down from the roof and settled in Sergeant Colon's sparse hair.

'Mmph' he said, jerking awake in time to watch the Commander's boots thump up the stairs. Colon knew only the Patrician could get Vimes so riled up, and he also knew that it was payday, and that if he didn't get a Vimes signature on the chit, he was going to have almost a hundred pissed off watchmen on his hands, something anyone who tried to disturb the peace in the Bucket on Gleam street knew all about.

Colon looked hopefully around the room, but everyone was studiously avoiding his eyes.

'Nobby,' he began, but the little man shook his head.

'Sorry, sarge. I ain't goin up there with Mr. Vimes in one of those moods. Last time the Patrician an' him had a row, he docked me 12 dollars for being a disgrace to the human race. Again! Its not like I can help it.' Above their heads, Vime's office door banged in a way that said in no uncertain terms, the next person to try to open it would need a crowbar. Not to get in, but to defend themselves once the door was opened.

'Detritus?' said Colon. A small mountain of rock near the door opened a mouth glinting with diamond troll teeth.

'I may be as fick as two o'them wooden tings, but I'm not that fick,' he rumbled. A few dwarfs, industriously buffing their helmets, sniggered at this.

'Oh, shut up' said Colon, wagging a fat finger at them as he heaved himself out of his chair. 'I've always been good to you boys. I'm getting on, you know. Me old legs can't manage those stairs like they used to…' He let the sentence hang in the air.

'That not 'cos they're old, it 'cos they're fat' said someone, provoking more sniggering followed by innocent looks as Colon whipped round, causing minor earthquakes in his outlying regions. He stuck his chins in the air and tried to stalk up the stairs, which groaned horribly. His big red face went even redder.

'No respect' he muttered to himself at the top of the flight, pausing to get his breath back. He'd been a pillar of the Watch for over twenty years now, and did anyone care? Not a chance. These days it was all dwarfs running around arresting people twice their size and trolls getting promoted to sergeant and solving murder mysteries and even Nobby Nobbs, disgrace to the human race, petty criminal and passion's most unlikely plaything, even he was doing overtime and coming up with bright ideas and trying to actually catch people. It's not how it used to be, thought Colon ruefully, inching along the corridor. He knocked gingerly on Vime's door, then poked his head round like the cowardly member of a bomb disposal squad.

'Come in, Fred' said Vimes wearily.

The Commander of the Watch was sitting moodily in his old battered leather chair, his legs crossed on his desk and a cigar in his mouth. His head was in a whirl but for the sake of old Fred Colon, of twenty years interrupted plodding along in the same old groove without being disturbed, he pushed away the impulse to tell Fred, or anyone, what had happened to him that afternoon.

_ Vetinari had kissed him!_

The words and the memory felt burned into his skull. When he shut his eyes he saw the replay, over and over again, of his face coming closer and closer until it filled his vision.

_ Vetinari had kissed him! _

'Sorry, what?' Colon was looking concernedly at him, and Vimes realised he had been talking for some time. There was a fresh sheet of paper on the mounds of it that covered his desk. 'What's this?' he asked blankly.

'It's the wages chit, sir' said Colon patiently, edging around the desk to see if there was a bottle anywhere on it. 'Are you alright, sir? Been overdoing it recently?'

Vimes looked into Colon's big round face and swallowed the confession that came bubbling up to his lips.

'I'm fine, Fred. Here, let me sign that-' he reached for his pen but paused, hand hovering, over the familiar crest of the Patrician. It stared up at him from the page, and again and again Vimes saw Vetinari's face getting closer. Vetinari…should he call him Havelock now? Did this mean they were on first name terms? The small part of Vimes marked 'Normal' snorted at the thought of Vetinari calling him Sam. Sammy. Sammy and Havelock. He laughed out loud and signed Fred's piece of paper without looking at it. He thrust at the sergeant with a flourish and treated him to a big grin.

'Anything else I can do for you, Fred?' Colon backed away nervously. Vimes' smile was the kind that lurked in undergrowth waiting for small furry creatures.

He collided with Captain Carrot on the stairs. The young man ripped off a salute- even though he outranked Colon and was, Colon knew, a good deal more intelligent than he was, behind his big blue eyes and honest smile. Sergeant Angua followed him into Vimes' office while Colon hurried down the stairs and back to the comparative safety of his desk. He was sweating heavily. Something about the Commander was different today, but Colon couldn't quite think of what it was. Normally he could shout and rant all he wanted and Colon wouldn't turn a hair, but today…Vimes' smile had scared him. He'd seen it several times before, but never aimed at him. It was the smile Vimes used on what he called 'the criminal cream of the underworld' when they thought they were going to win, just before he revealed he had all the aces in his hand, like Carrot with a loaded crossbow, or ceramic constable Dorfl just behind them, big hands reaching down.

Or even last month, when The Hide Park Hider had been cornered down some dark alleyway in the Shades. Every detail of that night was etched in his memory like an ice sculpture of the brain. The man, panicked, had reached out and grabbed Colon, pulled a knife from nowhere and held it to his neck. They'd backed into the shadows and Vimes had followed slowly, while the man screamed his demands and the knife had pressed deeper into Colon's flesh. Vimes had nodded his agreement, Colon remembered, and the Hide Park Hider began to relax, to loosen his grip, to think he had won.

Then Vimes grinned. A match flared as he lit his cigar and everyone's night vision was destroyed, except Colon, who knew Vimes' tricks and had shut his eyes tight, wrenched the man's hand away from his face and ducked. Peering through his lids he saw Vimes step aside and his ace card, a golden blur of fur and muscle, had ripped through the air and straight at the man's throat. Angua didn't kill him, but it was a close run thing. Watchman loyalty runs deep. Strangely, it wasn't the fear of death that Colon remembered most about that night. It was Vimes' face before he struck the match.

Colon shivered with recollection. When Vimes looked like that, someone was going to get it. He just hoped it wasn't him.

The door opened and shut. Colon looked up as a shadow fell across his desk. He was suddenly aware that everyone had gone out on patrol and he was all alone. There was a silken sound as a sword was drawn from its sheath.

'oshit' said Colon.

Upstairs, Vimes was barely listening as Carrot dutifully recounted various trivial Watch matters.

_ Vetinari had kissed him, and he had kissed him back!_

He twirled his official baton of office in his fingers, trying to think about his feelings. He felt they were hiding from him, scuttling behind all the rubbish in his mind, not letting him see what he felt about the kiss, what he felt about Vetinari…was he happy? Was he sad? Emotions danced in his head but he didn't know which to look at first, they all darted away when he tried to concentrate. He wanted a drink but knew precisely why he wasn't going to have one.

Carrot's voice washed over him. Broken dartboards, missing petty cash, Detritus' habit of slamming his locker door so hard the whole row fell down, elusive suspects being found trussed up outside the Cable Street watch house with a mouth full of cloves …'

'What? How? Who was found trussed up with a mouthful of cloves?' Carrot shuffled through his notes.

'A Mr Jack 'Shinkicker' Neville. He's that one you've been looking for for three months, sir, you know, the one who robbed every Guild in the city, despite all our attempts to find him? The one who you said you wanted to both kick his arse and shake his hand at the same time-'

'Yes Carrot' said Vimes hurriedly 'I want to know _how_ he got there. I mean, we've had our best men on this for months!' Carrot's honest brow wrinkled.

'I don't know sir.' Suddenly he grinned and tapped his nose in what he thought was a conspiratorial way. 'It's a mystery, sir!' Behind him Angua rolled her eyes.

Vimes mind suddenly cleared. Vetinari was pushed aside as a new thought entered, He felt like liquid ice was trickling down his spine.

Cloves…he met Angua's eyes past Carrot's shoulder.

'Yes, thank you, Carrot,' he said loudly. Just, oh ,damn it, make sure he's charged with everything we can pin on him. And send a pigeon to his lordship saying we've caught him. Don't be too specific about how-'

Carrot saluted.

'Already done that, sir!' he said brightly. Yes, I bet you have, thought Vimes sourly.

'Well then, off you go.' After Carrot had left Angua came to perch on the edge of his desk. Vimes found himself thinking how attractive she was. He looked wistfully at her for a second, and she looked back at him. He'd always liked talking to Angua. He felt their minds operated on the same wavelength, even if she was a wolf half the time.

'I've got something that might make you happy again' she said, opening her hand and tipping a few black objects onto his desk. Vimes stared at them and began to grin, a real grin that he couldn't hide, even though he was trying. They were cloves.

Angua smiled and left. Vimes locked the door behind her and went to the window, drawing back the curtains and raising the sash as far as it would go. Then he settled in his ancient chair and waited. After a while he heard a sound such as might be made by a boot scraping across the roof tiles above his office. Sam Vimes smiled to himself in the gathering shadows. He'd had plenty of practice in situations like this- he was infamous at the Assassin's guild for bear traps in the shrubbery, shifting handholds on solid brick walls and most importantly, spiky railings below his windows. The man on his roof was no ordinary assassin. He was the best. All the same…

'I wouldn't use the left gargoyle' he called out. 'He's under orders to chuck people off if he finds 'em.' There was a silence on the roof, then very quiet footsteps towards the right hand of the office. 'Yep' said Vimes, 'that one's safe. I always like to give you people a sporting chance.' Someone sniggered overhead.

The suddenly, with lightning speed a black clad figure appeared upside down in front of the window and somersaulted into the office. It had a black cloth across its face and an enormous curved sword across its back.

'I go, I come back' said the figure happily, unpinning its mask.

'Yes' said Vimes, looking into the grinning, scarred face of 71 Hour-Ahmed. 'You certainly do.'


	3. Ahmed

Hello its me again, **not your average!** How lucky are you guys- its only been a day and already you're getting more vimesy action! Where do i find the time? Anyhoo, i saw my lovely reviews and i just had to post some more story. i'm actually addicted to the reviews now...pleeees, give me more! Ok i kno thats a bit strange when iv only got two readers but meyh.

Luska- still not long enough, damn you! And where, exactly, is chapter four of Cities apart? Hmm? I'm waiting! and i'm sure teakettle and s are waiting too! relax- im not going to nick any more of your ideas (well...jks). But i am eagerly awaiting next installment. There are only so many times one can re-read. Oh, and can you pls remember how to use telephonic devices. I'm not fond of talking to BIG D.

Teakettle- i actually love you! Your review made me so happy. And i'll let you in on a secret (kay, its not that exciting)- i wrote chapters 2 and 3 before i wrote 1, intended to be a follow on to Enelya's Cities Apart (hence the somewhat glaringly obvious plot robbing). But she wouldnt let me post it (fair enough) so i wrote chapter 1 in somewhat of a hurry, which might explain why the style is different. Then again i think 3 is different too....maybe i'll just bounce around various Terry Prattchettesque styles of writing until i hit on one i can stick with. Or invent my own characters/plots and stop ripping him off. Anyway...if you love vimes so much (ahh, vimes) why don't you write a Vimes fanfic? i read one of your stories but hadn't seen the programme it was based on so....kinda lost on me. I'm sure you could write a fantabulous vimes. As for :

"Well, err, yes, um, back to work then, eh?"

"(cough)Yes, see you next week."

I imagine Vimes just running out in shock, without a word. Or maybe something was said...i might work it in in later chapters. Vimes definitely broke it off, though. Def.

Right, i've babbled long enough. I'm sorry this one isn't as long as the others but am working on chapter 4 right now! (i'm also sorry they all have silly names). Oh, i've just realised why i have time to do this. Its cos i never do any real work! Damn........

Chapter 3- Ahmed.

Vimes strode forward and embraced Ahmed roughly, laughing.

'Ah, your grace, it has been too long.' Vimes released the man and went to his desk, still grinning broadly. He picked up two of his finest cigars and offered one to Ahmed.

'Damned if I'll be 'your grace' to you, you old bastard. Good gods, its been over a year since I saw you last! I can't believe it.' Ahmed clapped a hand on his shoulder, leaned over and lit his cigar from Vimes' match.

'And what should I call you?' he drawled in his gentleman's 'Ankh-Morpork' voice. 'Sir Samuel? Sam? Sammy?' Vimes shuddered at this inadvertent reminder of the morning's events. How could he even have thought of Vetinari when Ahmed was in the country? How could he have not known he was here?

'What's wrong?' Ahmed was looking into his eyes.

'Nothing. And you can call me Sam. I think you've earned that privilege.' Ahmed grinned a hundred carat grin.

'Ah, yes. What adventures we had, Sam. I can still see the look on my prince's face when you pressed the trigger.'

'So can I. How is Cadram? Still plotting fratricide somewhere?'

'The desert swallowed him. And Khufurah is an excellent ruler, as well you know.' Vimes couldn't keep the smile off his face as Ahmed talked of state affairs. Here was exactly what he needed. His greatest friend, the one person in the world who he felt understood him. For Vimes had no-one else but Ahmed. Colon? Colon was not on his level and they both knew it. Carrot? He was too young, too naïve. Vetinari? Hah! That man certainly understood Vimes, but only in the way a mortician might understand a dead body, by inspecting it closely, cutting it up. He'd certainly misjudged that morning…

He looked up into Ahmed's golden smile, and found Vetinari pushed from his mind.

'Are you sure there is no problem? Perhaps I have come at an inconvenient time for you?'

'No!' Vimes nearly shouted it. 'This morning his lordship and I had…a fight. That's all.'

'Oh.' Ahmed still looked unsure. Vimes decided he liked to see him that way. Vulnerable. 71 Hour-Ahmed was the man with the plan, the man with all the answers. Maybe that was what attracted Vimes in the first place, because Vimes was the man with no plan, and no answers either, most of the time.

'Come on' he said, putting an arm around Ahmed's shoulders. 'Let's go and see the City. One thing you haven't told me… why are you here, Ahmed?' Ahmed smiled lazily.

'Come now, Commander Vimes. You are an intelligent man. Don't you know?' Vimes heart began to beat hard in his chest. Ahmed leaned over and kissed him once on each cheek like Klatchian nobility. Vimes blushed and Ahmed grinned. Then the two of them turned and walked out of the office.

In the depths of the Patrician's palace Lord Vetinari was undecided. He paced the Oblong Office while his mounds of daily paperwork lay untouched. What should he do? Go to Vimes and explain? Wait for Vimes to come to him? He would surely have to, sooner or later. The watch wages, he seemed to recall, were due today. And they needed his signature. Hah! Vimes would have to come then.

The Patrician settled down to his work, and Drumknott, his secretary, breathed a sigh of relief. Anything that unbalanced the Patrician was something that could unbalance the entire city. But then, there was the expression of unmistakeable disappointment that flitted across lord Vetinari's face when he showed in Sergeant Colon, the heat of the day and the effect of the Patrician's odd clock making his big face perspire. He was clutching the wages chit, and Drumknott thought it was odd that Vimes hadn't brought it. The man usually took a delight in watching the Patrician sign over increasingly large sums of money as the Watch grew and grew. Perhaps, Drumknott mused as he saw Colon out, he was taking some well-deserved rest. He always tried to do too much.

Five minutes later Drumknott was astonished to see Lord Vetinari ignoring his work yet again, and gazing out of the huge windows to the city, in particular in the direction that Drumknott knew the Watch house lay. A horrible suspicion began to enter the secretary's mind, but he said nothing.

'Drumknott' said Lord Vetinari distantly, without turning around.

'My lord?'

'Order a carriage, will you? I think I shall make a routine inspection of the Watch houses.' Drumknott nodded imperceptibly to himself. Of _course_. Damn Vimes! The Patrician had allowed him to run around upsetting everyone in the city and now it had come back on him. He should have guessed. The Patrician had never married, and now Drumknott began to think of it, Commander Vimes was the only person Vetinari seemed to take any interest in. He remembered a conversation from long ago….

_'My lord, it occurs to me that if Commander Vimes didn't exist you would have had to invent him.'_

_ 'Do you know, Drumknott, I rather think I did.'_

It was with great forebodings that Drumknott entered the carriage after Lord Vetinari. The Patrician leaned forward.

'Pseudopolis Yard, please,' he said to the driver.

Vimes was enjoying himself immensely. Ahmed, after apologising to Sergeant Colon (who had been found gibbering in terror in the cupboard under the stairs) was a great hit among the Watchmen. He had performed several sword tricks and was now telling of his time in the Klatchian deserts, avoiding Prince Cadram's men. Vimes suspected half of the stories were complete fabrication but that didn't matter because Ahmed was in his element. He had just launched into the story of how he and Vimes had held up the Prince of Klatch, a selection of Anhk- Morpork nobility and both armies when there were hoof beats outside and the noise of a carriage coming to a stop. Vimes stood up and went outside. Ahmed followed him, and then stood stock still as he found himself subjected to the icy gaze of Lord Vetinari.

_Him!_ Lord Vetinari stared in horror into the scarred, bearded face of the one man he truly hated in the world. But 71 Hour-Ahmed was supposed to be in Klatch, far away from Vimes. How could this have happened without his knowledge? Vetinari regarded his rival with a cold hatred that obviously surprised the other man. Vimes coughed uncomfortably.

'Lord Vetinari, this is 71 Hour-Ahmed, a friend and chief policeman of Prince Khufurah of Klatch.'

'I know who he is' snapped the Patrician, colour flaring in cheeks that were usually as pale as the grave. 'What I want to know is why he is here.'

Vimes could feel Ahmed bristling at this unexplained hostility. Ye gods, he thought, Vetinari is jealous!

'He recently aided in the capture of a wanted criminal,' he said coldly. 'And, as I believe I have mentioned, he is a friend of mine.' Ahmed stepped forwards and placed a hand on Vimes' shoulder, smirking. The patrician saw a flash of gold and felt enraged by this man, who dared to touch Vimes. And Vimes let him. Of course the patrician knew about Ahmed. How could he have missed the change in Vimes when he returned from Klatch? Here was someone with whom Vetinari knew he could not compete. Ahmed was a policeman, Vimes' equal. And the worst thing was that diplomacy forbade any action against the man! All he could do was hope that Ahmed's visit was to be a short one.

Vimes nodded at the Patrician and went back into the Watch house, Ahmed following closely behind him. The room was deserted now, no one having wanted to wait around to incur the Patrician's wrath. Vimes slumped in a chair and shut his eyes, suddenly exhausted. He felt Ahmed come and sit close to him and opened his eyes to find the other man's face very near his own. Vimes leaned closer, and kissed him softly on the lips.

Somewhere outside their private world, unnoticed, someone watched. And smoked. And stealthily walked away.


	4. Discretions

Chapter 4- Discretions.

71 Hour-Ahmed was on the roof of the Watch House, above the window through which, two weeks before, he had entered Vimes' office and his life again. He was smoking one of Vimes' cigars and felt, at this point in time, almost completely happy.

A full moon winked through the clouds but Ahmed wasn't watching the skies. His eyes were fixed on a dingy street corner far below, with the kind of ferocious intensity born of thousands of hours watching the desert dunes for the tiny speck of blackness that wavered between shadow and foe. His eyes _gleamed_.

Time passed, in the darkness. Ahmed was flat against the slates, the coil of smoke that rose and imperceptibly joined that of the chimney the only indication of his presence. He could put you in mind of a lizard, if they were black-swathed and scarred and very, very clever. A figure shuffled into view on the black street corner. Ahmed saw its head turn very deliberately, looking around it for something or someone. Moonlight glinted on metal as sword was pulled with a silken noise that carried to the rooftop, and the figure made a sudden stab into a patch of shadow that looked no different from any other. There was a gasp and then a thump as another figure slumped forwards onto the cobbles. The sword was sheathed again and Ahmed grinned to himself in the darkness, showing a flash of gold teeth. Ah…a professional. Ahmed always liked a challenge. With an easy grace he jumped into a crouch, exhaled his last smoke-ring and flicked his cigar away. He looped a thin cord, blackened with soot, around a chimneystack. He adjusted the harness around his waist and grasped the cord tight with both hands. Then 71 Hour-Ahmed leapt like a cat and away into the night.

Lord Vetinari also watched the sleeping city, from the high windows of the palace. At night, with the little lights twinkling and the criminals and miscreants (for the most part) safely tucked up in bed, the Patrician found he could almost pretend Ankh-Morpork was as innocent as it looked. He sighed. Enough of that. Turning from the scene he went to his desk and lit the lamp. There were just two sheets of paper on his desk. Through the flickering of the candlelight, the heading of the largest page could just be made out as showing the official seal of the Klatchian kingdom. Curly Klatchian script scrawled across the paper, but the other sheet was blank. Lord Vetinari carefully picked up his pen and dipped it into the pot of ink by his side.

There were two things, Ahmed reflected as he dropped from the roof, which spoilt his happiness in Ankh-Morpork. The first was that Vimes had no idea of the truth of why he was here. Ahmed had never lied to the man. His fondness of him was no pretence, it was just that…well, spending time with Vimes was not the only reason he was here. The reasons for his presence had begun as a glimmer in the desert in Klatch, and spread and grown and people had fanned it into a spark and swept it across the ocean and the wind had made it a flame. And now, the plot was burning merrily on both sides of the sea and it was Ahmed's job to put it out. The second thing, of course, was Vetinari. Ahmed was finding it hard, very hard, to ignore the man's hatred for him. Having that hanging over him was making his job a lot more difficult. And then, of course, there were the personal reasons. Ahmed had seen the way Lord Vetinari looked at Vimes. He'd made a point of coming to every meeting he and the commander had, and standing just behind Vimes, whistling and absentmindedly sharpening his huge curved sword. It amused Vimes but it made Vetinari livid, and Ahmed took pleasure in watching the Patrician's eyes, the only part of him to show any emotion, dart about as they searched for some way that he could retaliate without knocking bricks out of the delicate walls of diplomacy. Ahmed had learned to watch eyes in the volatile courts of Klatch, where the merest flicker could be a signal for some horde of warring tribesmen to bear down upon you. But he also knew that Klatch could crush Ankh-Morpork, and very nearly had, not so long ago. Being Khufurah's right-hand man meant that Vetinari was rendered as harmless as a toothless lion.

The scratching of the pen ceased, in Vetinari's shadowy office. He regarded what he had written and carefully blew it dry, then folded both sheets of paper neatly and precisely and slipped them into a crisp white envelope. An intent observer might have had time to notice the words '_Regarding the true nature of the man known as '71-Hour Ahmed'_ before the paper was whisked out of sight. The name he wrote on the front of the envelope, in careful black italic script, was 'Commander Samuel Vimes.'

Ahmed landed on the cobbles without a sound. He could sense the other man's presence, by the way his hands tingled and the hair on the back of his neck lifted. Ahmed had spent a long time refining his senses. He fancied, sometimes, that he could smell steel and hear murderous intent, and taste fear. Somewhere close, a sword was drawn. Ahmed adjusted his grip on his own sword, and crept forwards one step at a time. He knew the man waiting for him was going to kill him, if he could. He was an assassin, one of many sent to Ahmed over the last two weeks. The bastards never seemed to learn. For all that they were so proud of their Assassins' Guild, and knew every detail of their heritage, they never seemed to remember that Ahmed had been trained there too…

'Ahmed!' The voice invaded the silence and pounded on Ahmed's alert ears like stones on a drum. He cursed, ducked and rolled backwards, hearing the telltale swish of a blade cutting the air just above his head. He lashed out and caught a handful of cloth in one hand and hauled himself towards his unseen assailant, stabbing with his knife, and shouted;

'Vimes! Get out of here!' There were a busy few seconds where many more people than could have possibly been there hit Ahmed and bore him to the ground. He struggled and felt the material he was holding rip.

And then there was light. Ahmed blinked furiously, swearing at Vimes through the green and purple afterimages. But then he saw him standing next to Angua calmly pointing a crossbow at a young man with his lower face covered by a black cloth. He was completely immobile, his legs dangling some way from the ground, but this was mainly because Sergeant Detritus was standing just behind him and had picked him up in two massive fists. He grinned at Ahmed, showing diamond teeth. The Assassin's eyes were fixed unblinkingly on Vimes. Ahmed looked at the piece of ripped black cloak in his hands.

'Vimes! What the hell are you doing here?!' Vimes puffed at his cigar.

'Trolls have excellent night vision, you know. It's a good thing Detritus saw you lurking in the shadows.'

'A good thing! You could have gotten me killed!'

Vimes suddenly spat out his cigar, handed the crossbow to Angua, and strode towards Ahmed. He thrust his face close to the other man, his eyes slitted with rage.

'_I_ could have gotten youkilled? You were doing a bloody good job of that yourself!' he snarled, his face inches from Ahmed's. 'I don't suppose you saw the other assassin behind you? If Angua hadn't moved so fast I don't know what might have happened…' Vimes trailed off.

Somewhere in the midst of the cold horror creeping through Ahmed's mind and body, he found time to be gratified at the anguish Vimes was suffering at the thought of him in danger- his hands were shaking with anger. He gripped Ahmed's cheeks in his hands and leaned their foreheads together.

'You've not been telling me the truth, I fancy,' he whispered, so quietly that the others couldn't hear. 'We shall have a talk, Ahmed, but not now.' He released him and Ahmed wanted to grasp his hands again, to beg for him to touch him, but Vimes was angrier than he'd ever seen him and he remained silent, watching the Watchmen as they struggled not to meet his gaze.

'I thought he killed the other…I saw him do it…' said Ahmed, looking at the two young Assassins as Detritus carried them to the cells.

'It was a trick' said Vimes shortly, locking the doors behind them. 'They knew you were watching. They knew a lot more than you thought.' He would not say another word until they had mounted the stairs and shut the door of Vimes' office behind them. Vimes locked it, turned and then leant heavily on the frame, staring into Ahmed's eyes. Suddenly he strode across the space between them and kissed him hard on the mouth, with a passion that Ahmed had never seen before. They did not speak for a few minutes, then Vimes broke away and went to sit behind his desk. Ahmed sank down on another chair, his mind frantically working on the plausible excuses, counter stories, lies and edited versions of the truth that he might convince Vimes to accept. But then he caught Vimes cool gaze and knew that only the truth would be accepted now.

'I'm not stupid, Ahmed-' the Commander began, but the other man interrupted him.

'Sam. I'm sorry. You were right, I haven't been honest, but…there are complications. Parts of my life I would rather you knew nothing of. And I'm a policeman, for gods' sake! We don't trust anyone, do we? I always play my cards close to my chest, as do you.' Vimes leant back in his chair, idly playing with his letter opener. The glint of the metal was reflected in his eyes.

'You and Vetinari aren't the only ones with spies, you know. I've got my people on the streets. I knew there was a plot to kill Vetinari months ago, and I knew that Khufurah would be sending someone. I didn't realise he would send his best.' Ahmed looked him squarely in the eye as Vimes continued. 'Can you imagine my surprise when I realised he'd sent you? Do you know what I've been doing all week? Watching every move you make, trying to figure out whose side you're on. Are you here to protect Vetinari, or to help kill him? Were you sent because Khufurah knew how I felt for you, to use me as a tool to get closer to the Patrician, or to make your protecting him less obvious? Did you really feel anything for me at all?' Vimes shook his head ruefully. 'Those questions have been torturing my brain since you arrived. We policemen really do trust no-one, even those we love. But here's the mistake I made, see.' He leaned forward conspiratorially.

'I started to trust you. Because I wanted to believe that you were here for me and no-one else. So what you insisted on coming to my meetings with Vetinari? You're a diplomat. So what there were times when you sloped off and even my best undercover guys couldn't follow you- you're good at getting swallowed by places. And I swallowed everything you said until tonight, when I saw you climb on that roof and sit and wait for three hours in the dark with a big knife on your back. That's not the action of an innocent man. And sure enough, you jumped down to attack none other than a member of the Patrician's personal guard. So I guess you're not here to help me do my job. You're here to test my loyalties. Well done, Ahmed! I haven't done anything to stop you. I should have taken you down right away, knowing what I knew, bit I didn't, because I can't bring myself to do anything that might hurt you. And if you turn out to be embroiled in this plot, you know you'll be lynched.'

Ahmed had turned away at the end of Vimes' long speech, and his face was in shadow. Vimes began to feel queasy, as if he had just thrown up. In a way, he thought crudely, I just have. I've vomited my feelings out into the open to a man I hardly know. And feelings can do a lot more damage than a regurgitated dinner.

Ahmed sighed.

'You know, Vimes, I'm disappointed in you.' Vimes was flabbergasted at the extent of his effrontery. 'You seemed to have done your homework, and for a moment there I thought it was all up. But no. You've picked up a conclusion and gone running away with it like some kind of overexcited puppy.' He was grinning now, leaving Vimes completely baffled. 'But you're such an endearing puppy. And you did well, really. Worked out quite a few things…my dear man, whoever said the plot was to kill Vetinari? I assure you that the plot _I _am here to contravene is entirely based on killing _you._' He leant back and lit a cigar, grinning all over his scarred, mischievous face.

The Patrician looked at his handiwork. The envelope lay in the little brass tray with the dragons on it, from which Drumknott took the letters three times a day and ensured they got to their intended recipients. All he had to do was leave it there, and that incriminating document, containing everything that Vetinari's sources had been able to dig up on Ahmed, would be on it's way to Vimes in a matter of hours. He didn't have to do anything, really…

Vetinari picked up the letter and drew the candle closer. With barely a flicker of hesitation he lit the corner of the envelope and watched it burn for a while, the light papery ashes curling from the glowing orange flames, licking the darkness with destructive tongues. He was experiencing the totally novel feeling of being ashamed of himself. For the millionth time that day, he cursed Vimes. Forging paperwork? Telling tales? Vetinari couldn't even pretend that he was only descending to Vime's level, because the man's twisted, crabbed and above all _misplaced _honour kept him high above such dirty dealings as those. Vetinari had only himself to blame for the depths he now stooped to. But no more. Havelock Vetinari could scarcely believe what he had nearly done. Everything he had written was true, but to send it anonymously to Vimes had such an underhand, cowardly, jealous tinge to it. If Vimes were to learn the truth, Vetinari would tell him to his face. Yes. The truth, the truth about everything.


	5. The Tempest

disclaimer- dnt own Ahmed, dont own Vet, dont own Vimes ( i wish i did, he could be MY pet...) oh dear. my hideous attempt at a rhyming disclaimer. im sorry. i dont know what came over me.

well, my small but loyal fanbase of reviewers (thats you, luska) heres another chapter. i have been released into half term and ah, how the creative juices are flowing. just look at them, dribbling all over the place. ok, this is a less action more explanatory chapter. but, damn me for my twisty turny plot if u will, i've managed to not actually explain that much. hehe. more coming soon, if i have time.

to my reviewers-

waves-sama, come back and review! haven't seen you in a while now.  
sunny-historian- so glad u enjoyed it. i know about the mental leaps, but hey, thats what fan fic is all about! i hope u like this chap too.  
anniewilkes1- hey, i just write what the plot bunnies tell me to! im their slave, you know. but dnt woz. theres sum Vimes/Vet 'action' coming up in chapter 6.  
starrygazer- i'm glad u agree with my ahmed. hes just such a mystery i thought wud be fun to have him keeping vet on his toes!  
coriander eisenhower- what a cool name. i like the idea of myself as a pioneering fanfic writer, at the head of a big boat named 'the vimes/ahmed slasher'. anyway. i digress.  
freegiveaway- glad u like. heres more. so give me the reviews i crave (i'm a review junkie. im not afraid to admit it. i go to meetings and everything.)  
mistress arion- thankyou! means a lot to have such a fanfic genius review me.  
Drumknott- sign ur name next time! vimes will NOT go spare, i'll have you know. we've spoken about the issue and i believe you were acting entirely without authority on your own jealous whims. shame on you!  
fluffywombat- am awaiting ur next chap. thanx for reviewing- and liked the bio, btw. i cant believe u plugged me! it brought a happy tear to my computer weary eye.  
nessa1- ah, my fanfic doppelganger. yr 13 is indeed still hell but half term has arrived. i love ur review simply cos it was the one that finally brought me up to 20 reviews. YAY!

Luska-i've one word for you. DAVID. hehe. telephonic communications will soon be breached, i assure you. meantimes, hope u enjoy. sims 2 arrives chez ici soon! u must must must visit. or il go back to calling you 'the tramp'.

NYA loves you all.

Chapter 5- The Tempest

Vimes didn't react. Despite himself, Ahmed felt a little disappointed. Drama and convention dictated a gasp, a jump to the feet, a ringing slap round Ahmed's face, even a strangled '_what?_' But Vimes just sat there. Presently Ahmed began to feel uncomfortable, something the diamond-hard desert policeman seldom felt. When Ahmed was around, it was other people who felt uncomfortable. Usually because they had their hands tied behind their back and knife pricking their ribcage. Ahmed was a very direct person.

'Vimes?' he said uncertainly, inwardly marvelling at the range of emotions the man was making him feel. 'Are you alright?' Vimes snorted.

'Look at you, pussyfooting around me. Do you know what the current guild price is on my head? Half a million dollars. It wouldn't be that high if I hadn't put a good few of you fellows away in my time, which I have. People try to kill me everyday of my life, I'm used to it.' Ahmed kept his face carefully blank.

'Why so quiet then? If you're so used to it?

'But those are people from _my_ city. Up close and personal. I'm wondering why someone in Klatch would want to kill me so badly. I mean, I have this gift for annoying people, but from that distance? Something doesn't fit. And I'm sitting here trying to work it out, because I'll be damned if I'm asking you, you smug bastard.' Ahmed grinned sheepishly. 'And also,' Vimes began to get more heated, 'I want to know how I missed this. My informants are the best out there, save his lordship's. They got the plot, but they got the wrong man- ' Ahmed interrupted.

'You can speculate all day, or you can let me tell you what's going on.' Vimes was silent, so Ahmed continued.

'Its not a Klatchian who wants you dead, Vimes. It's a Morporkian who has the kind of rich and powerful friends to whom you are nothing. A speck of fly dirt on a page. That's all. But they have been convinced that you are in their way. They have been convinced it would be a good idea if you were removed. And they have the money to hire the best to do it.' Icy clarity began to flood Vimes' mind. The bastard. The complete and utter _bastard._

Suddenly Vimes banged his fist down on the table. Ahmed didn't even jump.

'I want to KNOW' Vimes began, and then was surprised to find that he was shouting. 'I want to know-'

Ahmed ran a weary hand over his eyes. It was the first time Vimes had ever seen the man tired. Even when they'd been together, Ahmed had been the first up, the last to sleep, dark eyes always alert and watchful. Yes. Watchful. That was the word all right.

'I want to know who hired you.' Ahmed sighed. Vimes was suddenly angrier than he had ever been in his life. In one movement his chair was clattering to the floor and Ahmed's throat was in his grip. He drove the other man up and inexorably backwards, where he hit the wall with a shuddering crash. Vimes' only picture, an iconograph of the scowling ranks of watchmen, dropped to the floor.

'Vimes-' Ahmed croaked. He had a knife at Vimes' stomach. One careful slash, that was all it would take. But-

'You can't, can you?' Vimes sneered in his ear. 'You've been here three weeks; if you were going to do it you should have done it by now. But you can't. You can't kill me, you cowardly bastard. I'm glad. It would shame me to be done in by someone as pathetic as you.' He released the Assassin then spat bitterly on the floor.

'You don't understand,' Ahmed said quietly, sheathing his knife.

'What's left to understand? You were hired to kill me. And you came here and you pretended to be my friend, more than my friend, and all the while you were going to kill me. You've made a fool of me, Ahmed. I can't forgive you that.' Ahmed blinked. There were tears standing in his eyes.

'Don't you want to know why?' He burst out. 'I love you! I love you! I can't fucking kill you because I love you too damn much. Which is why I was sent here in the first place.'

Vimes' face was a blank mask. His silence left a void that Ahmed couldn't help but try and fill.

'It's jealousy. I'm here because a jealous woman knew how I felt about you. A jealous and clever woman. And when I denied it she said to me, 'prove it. Prove you don't love him.' Ahmed was talking to himself now. Vimes felt as though he was in the middle of a raging storm but he could see an even bigger, blacker cloud on the horizon. And he knew that whatever he felt now, it was nothing, nothing compared to what would happen when that cloud broke. With a throat as dry as the sun-bleached bones of the desert, he spoke.

'Go on.'

'I'd kept away. It was a year, a whole year since I had seen you. But she knew. She always knows.' He began to laugh, but it had a manic edge to it. On cue, because there are some conventions stronger than mere meteorology, thunder growled in the air.

'She said you were dangerous. And if I didn't love you, then I would kill you. And if I didn't kill you, then she would kill me. For betraying her.'

The tiny hairs were up on the back of Vimes' neck.

'Who?' he almost snarled. But he knew the answer already.

Ahmed turned tortured eyes towards Vimes face.

'My wife,' he said.

And then the storm broke over their heads.


	6. Choices

Well, i have come to the end of the road. this was my first fanfic and i actually feel quite sad that its finished! but finished it is. I won't spoil the ending, so pls read on and pls pls pls review and tell me what you think.

to my reviewers-

Enelya- what a lovely long one! ugh ur mind is so dirty, i was talking about reviews. I hope you like the ending, and now you may have ur AU back and all to urself again, unless i decide to do a sequel. Now, dont scroll down to the bottom again, u'll ruin the surprise that vetinari is actually a woman...oh damn.

fluffywombat- sorry bout 'vimes face'- one day when i can be bothered i will correct that. Im SO glad u liked my ending, i've had the idea that Ahmed will be maried for EVER and spent soooo long trying to make revealing that info dramatic. i've left you some nice twisty plot turns in this chapter too. pls review!

watchman- thanks for reading chap 1. i hope u get around to the other chapters, im aware that they r rather long. and this one is the worst of the bunch!  
  
nyx-lily- cheers! i love nice reviewers. so glad u caved, pls cave again and read some more of my stuff. strictly speaking, im not a slash fan either but i did this on a kinda dare and it just ran away with me...i love vimes too. actually love him. i may write a het fic for him so if u'v got any ideas email them to me!

Not Your Average loves all reviewers! (its pathetic, really, how easily my love can be bought...)  
  
In the words of the great Terry Pratchett.....NOW READ ON...............

Chapter Six - Choices.

Vimes ran into the pouring rain, his cloak hanging haphazardly from his shoulder, his helmet once again forgotten. Soon the water had soaked his hair and skin but he ran on blindly, not caring where he went yet feeling the shape of the cobbles through his cardboard soles. And all the while his brain was feverishly repeating the same words over and over.

_Ahmed has a wife._

He splashed through the puddles around the gates of Pseudopolis yard.

_Ahmed has a wife._

He cleared the fence between Nine Oaks road and the Brass Bridge with one leap.

_Ahmed has a wife!_

But Vimes was not as young as he once was. Wheezing, he staggered to a halt on the bridge and flung a hand out to steady himself. He caught one of the massive feet of the wooden hippos and clung to it, blinking rain out of his eyes and waiting for the blue and purple spots to stop flashing in front of his eyes. If you looked closely, there might have been some tears mingling with the rainwater on his face.

He turned to look out over the usually glutinous river. Even as he watched, the Ankh was swelling, the banks receding under the furious onslaught of raindrop after raindrop. Some people were out for a wet night tonight. He looked down at himself. Come to think of it, he was one of them.

Vimes knew he had to calm down. Running out like that…it had been stupid. The plot to kill him aside (which took some doing), he should have suspected something like this. After all, Klatchians were famed for having multiple wives, weren't they? There was no reason why Ahmed shouldn't have at least one. He'd had a life before Vimes, and Vimes himself had been with Sybil for several years. It hadn't worked out but it had happened. And he'd loved her. Hadn't he? It was getting hard to remember. Vimes felt as though someone had hit him very hard with a hammer and then demanded to hear his times tables. He pinched his brow, trying to think clearly. A damp neurone gave a fizzle. Had Ahmed said his wife was Morporkian?

He looked up at the dark brooding shape of the palace, blurred by the rain. If he squinted, he could make out the dim, eternally present light of Vetinari's office. Did the man never sleep, he wondered, and then blushed in the darkness.

Vimes wanted answers. His pride wouldn't let him go back to Ahmed. But the only other person he could ask was…well. His feet began to take him to the palace anyway, reasoning with his brain that they didn't have to go in. Vimes snorted to himself, picturing the scene. He'd walk in, soaking wet, saunter up to Vetinari and say 'Havelock, old chap! I know you seem to be in love with me but I was wondering if you could get me some information about my boyfriend's wife because I'm rather jealous, you see.'

'Certainly, Sammy!' Vetinari would exclaim, then a variety of villagers and people dressed like animals would trot on and they would all sing a song about how nice it is to be friends, with Vetinari playing a banjo. Because it would only be that easy in some kind of ridiculous pantomime.

He reached the palace. Vetinari must have known about this. Ahmed had been attacked by members of his guard. But if he'd known, why hadn't he warned Vimes? It didn't make any sense.

There was nothing else for it. He had to know. As he walked past the palace guard a young man ripped off a salute.

'Dreadful night, your Lordship!'

_If only you knew,_ thought Vimes grimly.

---

Lord Vetinari paced the floor of the oblong office in agitation. He was worried. And so he was angry.

He had sent them hours ago. They should have been back by now. Something must have happened. Somewhere in the perfectly oiled and polished cogwheels of Vetinari's mind, someone had put a spanner. And it had Ahmed's face on it.

Again and again he wondered whether he should have gone himself. But he knew Sam would never forgive him that. He would understand, of course, in time. It was a necessary deed. After what he had found out today, Ahmed had to be stopped. He just hoped that Sam wouldn't be too upset. He was doing it for him, after all.

There was a knock at the door. Vetinari let out the breath he didn't realise he had been holding.

'Enter' he snapped, returning to his desk and bending over some paperwork. The door opened and shut. 'What took you so long?' said the Patrician calmly, never once looking up from the desk.

Sir Samuel Vimes, his Grace, his Excellency, the Duke of Ankh- Morpork, pulled up a chair and shook his sopping hair out of his face.

'I was coming to ask you the same thing' he said, and was gratified to see the shock in Vetinari's eyes.

---

'Vimes-' Vetinari began, but Vimes was suddenly livid, shouting over him.

'You knew, you bastard! You knew why he was here and you didn't tell me. Just sent your little guards to finish him off, stupid Vimes, none the wiser.'

'Do you think, after the events of two weeks ago, that I would want to do anything to hurt or humiliate you?' said Vetinari quietly. Vimes suddenly felt like a deflated balloon. 'I assure you, I only discovered that Ahmed was commissioned to kill you today. I am ashamed to admit that I have had agents researching him since his arrival. And today I received this.' He waved a document at Vimes. 'One of my agents in Klatch had bribed a servant to talk. My initial reaction, in fearing for your safety, was to despatch two guards to _arrest_ Ahmed, Vimes, not kill him. I had written a letter informing you as to why. But since you are here, and you apparently know everything, that is no longer necessary.'

Vimes' head was spinning.

'He couldn't do it, you know' he said thickly. 'He never even tried, in all the time he's been here. He told me the truth today.'

'How admirable,' said Vetinari coolly.

'If you knew why he was here then you know who sent him.' It wasn't a question. Vetinari met Vimes' angry stare with his icy blue eyes.

'Yes.'

'Was it his wife?' An expression moved fleetingly over Vetinari's face. Vimes couldn't tell what it was. Hope? Anger?

'Yes,' said Vetinari again.

'And who is that?' Vetinari sighed.

'Do you know, Vimes, if you continue questioning me in the impertinent manner of a jumped-up policeman, I shall endeavour to have you placed in the scorpion pit.'

They glared at each other for a while. Hating himself for being so manipulative, Vimes reached over the desk and grasped Vetinari's hand. The other man flinched.

_'Please'_ said Vimes. For a moment Vetinari said nothing. Then he withdrew his hand and steepled his fingers, regarding Vimes thoughtfully over the top of them.

'Ahmed's wife was born Lady Judith Ramkin.' Vimes began to laugh, but it had a manic edge to it. Fate just kept piling the surprises on him tonight.

'Judith? Lady Sybil's sister? You must be joking. Why on earth would she want to kill me? And what on the disc is she doing in Klatch?'

'She and Lady Sybil are second cousins of prince Khufurah on their mother's side. Sybil never told you?'

Vimes stopped laughing. Vetinari appeared to be serious.

'No, she didn't. She never talked about Judith much. I got the impression that they didn't really get on.'

'They did not. And you were the reason. Sybil came to me just before you got married, in tears. Judith had said that if Sybil insisted on 'marrying beneath her' then they would not speak again. I told Sybil to follow her heart. So Judith left for Klatch on your wedding day, I believe. Of course, had I known that your marriage wouldn't last, I may have advised Sybil differently. Then this whole mess might have been avoided.'

Vimes ignored the last comment.

'So she blamed me for her estrangement to Sybil…'

'Yes, and then after the divorce her bitterness grew because Sybil insisted on giving you a large amount of money and property. I think Ahmed was the final straw. Apparently they were newly wed when you met him. When she realised that he loved you, her jealousy consumed her. She ordered Ahmed to kill you.'

'But why didn't he just refuse to do it…'

'Use your head, Vimes. She's the cousin of the King; she has a lot of power. And you aren't very popular over there. Neither of us are, as part of the whole embarrassing Leshp debacle. All she had to do was convince some rich Klatchians that you knew too much and they'd all be chomping at the bit to have you killed. It's Only Ahmed who knew the truth, and how would it look, if he refused to defend his country? He would have been killed.' Vimes was surprised at the level of compassion Vetinari was showing.

'But he hasn't done it.'

'No.' Vimes looked at Vetinari's face. 'He loves you, it seems. We both know it isn't cowardice. Cowardice would have had him kill you.'

---

There was silence for a while. Candlelight played across Vetinari's thin features, the shadows making him gaunt yet at the same time curiously ageless. His pale hands twisted a scrap of paper between them, and the rustling noises blended with the insistent drumming of the rain on the windowpane.

Confused thoughts danced in Vimes' head. Foremost was the joy of knowing that Ahmed loved him, that the emotions he had struggled with since they met were reciprocated. But there was a sadness, too. A part of him that had awoken with Vetinari's kiss was whispering in his ear; '_what if…what if…_' and was joined by the dark, ugly feelings of betrayal that surfaced whenever he thought of Ahmed's lies. Had he harboured, even for a second, the desire to kill Vimes? He knew he would never know for sure.

'Havelock. Are you in love with me?' Vimes barely whispered it but Vetinari heard. He did not meet Vimes' gaze but he nodded his head, the slightest, most imperceptible movement possible. Inside he screamed the answer _yes! YES! Always!_

But Havelock Vetinari was a proud man, and he had not achieved all he had achieved by showing his emotions.

Vimes stood up, crossed the floor, faced Vetinari. His blood began to pound in his ears as he drew him upright, cupped his face in his hands. When their lips met it was as softly as butterflies kissing. Vetinari was still for a moment, then his hands found Vimes' waist and he pulled him closer, kissed him with more passion. Vimes felt his cheeks flare red.

Eventually they broke away, panting. Vetinari's pallid skin was flushed. His eyes were bright, excited. But his smile died when he saw the look on the other man's face.

'I want you to know' Vimes said softly, 'that if things were different…I think I could love you too. But I have to be true to my heart. And I love Ahmed.'

He looked down, briefly, and when he looked back a shutter had fallen once more over Vetinari. The patrician was calm and composed. His cheeks were a little pinker than normal, but that was all. Vimes, on the other hand, burnt with shame like a heretic of old. Vetinari crossed to the window and looked out, through the driving rain, to the little twinkling lights of the city.

'What do you see, Vimes, when you look out at it all?' Vimes smiled to himself. They had played this game before.

'Well, sir, I see a lot of water, at the moment, and probably a lot of mud when daybreak comes-'

'I see thousands and thousands of souls, all making the best of what they have.' Vetinari turned and smiled sadly at Vimes. He held out a hand, and Vimes shook it, and knew it was a gesture of forgiveness, of acknowledgement, perhaps even of friendship.

'Goodbye, Sir Samuel.'

---

When Vimes had drawn the doors shut behind him he saw Drumknott sitting at the outer desk, smoking.

'Are you happy now?' he said coldly. 'You've broken his heart. How can you be so cruel?'

Vimes' fist shot out and Drumknott crumpled around it. He stepped over the clerk's groaning body and took one of his cigars.

'Let me give you some advice' he said pleasantly. 'Firstly, don't talk about things you don't understand. And secondly, look after his Lordship. You never know, Drumknott, you may just catch him on the rebound.'

---

The rain fell, and fell, and fell. Rivulets of water cascaded off the roofs of the Unseen University, where the gargoyles sat, sieving edible matter out with their ears. Raindrops splashed into huge puddles on Treacle Mine road, and came through the roof of the Mended Drum. The water flowed down gutters past drunkards and swirled into drains. It fell, too, on the embrace of 71-Hour Ahmed and Sir Samuel Vimes, who didn't care. And lastly, as it flashed past the window, it was witness to the bizarre sight of a young man, a fresh black eye blooming on his nervous face, with his arms around the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork, holding him while he sobbed.

---THE END---


End file.
